One Word
by ParadoxicalOne
Summary: [GSR] Post LD & DD. Sometimes they were honest enough to admit it to themselves, if never verbalizing it to anyone else. Not having Sara in the building definitely made a difference. It hurt, and it was empty.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: Sadly, as much as I'd love a portfolio of investments, I'd rather have _CSI_. I don't have either. I'm just borrowing. _CSI_ belongs to CBS...

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**A/N – **Thank you, gsr4ever, for the help and the title.

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One Word

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"Woo," Catherine sighed as she walked into the breakroom. "This is one shift I wouldn't look forward to ever repeating."

Warrick looked up from his magazine and watched as the blond crossed the room for the coffee pot. None of the team had said much to each other that evening, there had not been time in between cases to even get a moment in edgewise. Her tension was shared by everyone else on the shift that evening.

Two murdered kids, a robbery, a teen suicide because of not meeting her parents' overzealous expectations, a hit and run that left the driver in critical condition, and a rape case were not the best of conditions for a week of cases. It only compounded matters especially for them to have all happened in the same day.

"I was just about to hit the instant replay button," Warrick joked, his attempt at levity not lost on the room's only other occupant.

Catherine huffed a chuckle as she sipped from her freshly poured cup of coffee. Making a sour face, she spit the coffee back into the cup and dumped it harshly into the sink. "When was this made? Last month?"

She placed the cup down in the sink more strongly than was needed, but her frustration had reached its peak hours earlier. Not bothering to rinse it out, she turned towards Warrick and looked upon him thoughtfully. He seemed to be holding up well on the outside, but inside was most likely another story. They were all battling demons of one sort or another that evening. It only served in making them all question why life dealt the cards it did.

"Grissom will be glad he took tonight off. At this rate, our overtime will be running into next shift," Warrick surmised, pushing his can of Red Bull across the table towards Catherine in a peace offering.

She looked momentarily pleased as she took the few steps towards the table and yanked out a chair opposite her coworker. As she dropped herself unceremoniously into the chair, she gripped the can greedily and lifted it to her lips. After a long gulp, she placed it back on the table, giving Warrick a grin of thanks.

"He's got a lot to deal with these days," Catherine added slowly, watching her finger trace a lazy circle on the table.

It was on all their minds. No one really spoke of it, but it was always there lurking under the surface. Sara was not at work, and Grissom was barely around. When he was around, he was distracted. He did his job, but that was where they felt it stopped. He was there, but there was definitely something missing.

If they admitted it, it was missing for them, too. Sometimes they were honest enough to admit it to themselves, if never verbalizing it to anyone else. Not having Sara in the building definitely made a difference. It hurt, and it was empty.

The sun rose and set. The moon still rotated around the earth. The world had not shifted on its axis. Crime had not ceased. Murders were still committed. Paperwork still needed to be filed. Bureaucrats droned on about budgets and politics on the news. The world, it seemed did not miss their colleague being inside the walls of Las Vegas CSI. Life carried on as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Days like this make me think about what life would be if I ended up in one of these situations," Warrick stated contemplatively, staring blankly at the magazine lying in front of him.

One eyebrow arched in response and acceptance. Catherine continued to look down towards the table. "I think we all think about those things from time to time."

Taking a deep breath, Warrick replied quietly, "More tonight than any other. So much useless violence. So many useless deaths all in such a short time. ... What if it was me?"

Catherine looked up, but her finger continued to trace an imaginary pattern on the table top. For a moment, she contemplated her own thoughts and wondered how to help him, if there was anything she really could say to make it better, to ease the pain.

Warrick continued speaking, filling the space. "Who'd I think of if I was looking death in the eye? When Nick was in that box, he thought about his family. They care about him..."

Catherine picked up where he trailed off. "...Greg has his parents..."

"...You've got your Mom, your sister, Lindsey..."

"...Sara had Grissom..."

Warrick looked up to meet her gaze. They stared at each other, searching the other's face for some answer that would solve the evils of the world. Catherine reached across the space of the table. Not sure what compelled her to do it, but she found herself wrapping her smaller hand around the larger hand of her coworker. With her palm on the back of his hand, she tucked her fingers around and underneath to squeeze just a little in a reassuring gesture.

The corner of Warrick's lips turned into a brief smile. He felt the strength she was trying to give him through that little touch. He turned his hand over and watched as Catherine left her hand there to lie on top still. She splayed out her finger to cover the span of his hand. He felt it. He felt the beat of her heart. He looked down at their joined hands.

"Warrick, sometimes it might seem darker than most, but you've got friends. You've got people who care about you. I wouldn't let anyone ever tell me that we all just work together. We far surpassed that years ago. We're like our own little dysfunctional family. So, don't you ever think you're alone." Catherine's voice floated out softly and soothingly, barely more than a whisper, but a sound that caressed his soul.

He sighed lightly, barely enough to be noticed. "I know that, but everyone has someone special, and I—"

"Hey," Catherine warned, cutting him off. "Don't do this to yourself. Okay?" She curled her fingers around and pulled his fingers into the palm of her hand to offer another squeeze. "You've got people who care about you just as much as you care about them."

"Thanks, Cath." Warrick offered her a more genuine smile than earlier. "I'm kinda glad Grissom isn't here tonight. I... I don't think I could have a conversation like this with him. ... Not right now."

Catherine released his hand and grabbed his drink again. "I hope everything's okay."

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Grissom walked into the townhouse, the stale feeling of quiet greeted him. It had welcomed him for the prior three weeks. It had been a mixed blessing to come home at the end of each shift. He found himself unable to fully concentrate at the lab, but he dreaded the quiet that surrounded him at home.

Once relishing in the quiet solitude that his lonely life had afforded him, he had become accustomed to Sara's voice or presence. The little noises she made when she was around. Her noon runs to the refrigerator when he was trying to sleep. The stairs creaking under her feet. The TV tuned to something other than the discovery channel. The humming or low singing she did unconsciously when she was busy doing something. He even found himself missing her music.

The quiet assaulted him more than he ever thought possible.

As much as he was offended by the quiet, he was forced to battle each and every day with the tasks that Sara used to accomplish. He never really noticed how much she had taken over and helped out around the house. Grissom hated how petty he sounded, but it was a lot of work. He seriously detested having to do her chores as well as his.

It was she who had reminded him to take out the trash. Sara was the one who watered the plants. Washing the dishes still occurred every other night, but that was for lack of dishes, and not because of sharing the duty. Bruno was not able to walk himself, instead he was left to roam for a few minutes at a time in the tiny backyard.

He missed her cooking. No, it was not gourmet, never gourmet, but it was good. She had never liked cooking for herself, but she had enjoyed cooking for them. He missed her bringing the mail in and sorting it on the table. He missed her opening the newspaper and laying the sports section out for him.

Oh, and let him not forget the way the house stayed exactly the same way. It never changed, not one bit. Grissom was used to Sara rearranging the magazines on the coffee table. He had become accustomed to her putting the soy milk on the shelf rather than in the door. The book she had been reading lay untouched on the bedside table. Her side of the bed was in the same unkempt condition as it was when she was last in it three weeks earlier, but not that he was counting. No, he had not washed the sheets, and he found nothing wrong with that.

He still stood just inside the door, clenching and unclenching his free hand hanging at his side. He looked at the hook to his right and stared at her jacket. He realized that how permanent she was in the house. Everywhere he looked, he saw her. And, everywhere he went, he felt her. On impulse, he reached out towards the jacket. Pulling it from the hook, he crumpled it in his fist and brought it up to his nose. Breathing in the scent that was Sara made tears almost spring to his eyes. For her to be so close, yet so far away. So much the same, and so much different.

Grissom sighed into the stillness and made his way slowly towards the kitchen. He shuffled along, almost dragging his feet, as if to postpone the inevitable of getting further into the abyss of silence. He dropped the bag on the counter and unloaded the items. Dog treats were placed on the counter. The fruit was dropped into the top crisper drawer as he removed the old pieces and placed them in the trash. He moved the soy milk to the shelf, just because, because she did it that way. The cereal went in the cupboard. Bread on the counter next to the refrigerator. The razors were just laid on the bar to be put away later.

All around him lurked the shadows of a love and a life that were lost. They assaulted him sometimes when he least expected it and sometimes not.

The curtain to the patio billowed easily in the breeze. Grissom caught sight of it for the first time since he had been in the room. Bruno was unable to open doors, and somehow an irrational sliver of hope edged its way inside.

* * *

The little hum of the equipment was the only sound in the layout room. Greg and Nick scanned evidence from one of the two cases they had been assigned. Silence had consumed most of their time together that evening. It was the worst night they had had in months, and work left little time to make casual conversation.

As little verbal conversation had ensued, it left a lot of time for mental dialogue. Each person had their own thoughts roaming around their heads, but it seemed disrespectful to discuss their own personal or internal debates over someone else's pain and suffering. Finding it difficult to continue the hushed tone of the evening, Greg ventured to have some kind of exchange.

"Nick?" Greg asked cautiously.

"What's up?" came the distracted reply. Nick's head remained down, but his eyes moved upward to see what Greg was working on.

Greg sat back in his chair and removed his goggles. "I'm, uh... just wondering about... you know." He cleared his throat, gaining a little more confidence. "Not having Grissom standing here over our shoulders makes me think about stuff."

Nick knew he did not want to discuss Greg's topic of choice just as much as he knew he was going to, but playing dumb did not always hurt. Possibly, it might buy him a little time. "What stuff?" Shuffling a few pieces of clothing around, he pushed a T-shirt across the table towards Greg. "Throw the ALS on that, too, will ya?"

Feeling the not-so-subtle shift on the mood of the room, Greg kept his mouth shut. He knew as well as anyone that the ordeal with Sara brought Nick's emotions about his own abduction back to the surface. He had dealt with it and moved on dutifully, but seeing it made him feel the helplessness and frustration all over again. Even seeing it from the rescuer's side did nothing to change the emotions. It had made him more frantic to help her because, while the others could imagine her fears, he could feel them.

His nightmares had taken months to leave him after he was rescued. The irrational fears of ants and small bugs had taken a while longer. After Sara's ordeal, the insect fear might not have come back, but the nightmares returned with a vengeance. Sometimes it was a box, sometimes a car, sometimes him, and sometimes Sara. No matter what the combination, the result was always the same. He woke up panicked, empty, and alone.

Anger and deflection had taken a front seat to most of his reactions. From the time right after his abduction, whenever he heard someone refer to it, Nick would get internally angry but outwardly offer a joke or a smirk to deflect the question or remark. Afterwards, he would go home and take out his anger on the punching bag in his garage. As time went on, he noticed his anger coming out at the wrong times. It had taken some time, but Nick pulled it under control, only for it to strike out at the wrong time.

Knowing that Sara was helplessly under that psychopath's control, lying there waiting on them to find her and rescue her, was breeding insanity. Not only did it bring back his fears of having been alone inside that coffin for so long, it made him fear for his friend. He knew how he had been angry and cynical and bitter, even sometimes still, if he admitted it.

Nick was afraid that his pseudo-sister, the one who championed for the underdog, would end up the same way as him if she made it out alive. They had always been so similar in helping out the helpless, but she was always more headstrong, more fearless, in her path. It was scary to see her take on so much sometimes, but he knew the victims deserved the best. To think that Sara could lose her fight was driving him insane while she was declared missing.

He continued telling himself that a pessimistic and contemptuous Sara was better than no Sara at all. He kept reminding himself that it was not over until they found her, that she was out there, somewhere, waiting on them to find her. He had persisted in repeating the mantra of 'It's not your day, Sara.' over and over in his head. He let it go as soon as they found her.

Feeling guilty about shutting his friend down, Nick relented. For too long he had been shutting everyone down, everyone out. Greg had, in fact, been through his own near-death experience. It would not be right if he kept his friend from letting go of his demons the way he knew best. While Nick's and Sara's situations were closer in nature, all three of them had been put into their own circle of Hell, an ordeal that most people would never understand.

"You're worried about what happens after, aren't you?" Nick asked quietly.

"Sorta. ... Grissom's a nice guy and all, but he's acting weird."

"Weird for normal people, or weird for Grissom?" Nick knew he was out of his league talking about how someone on the outside was affected in the aftermath. He could speak on his own behalf, but that was a tainted version because of his own ordeal.

Greg responded first with a little chuckle. He knew about Nick's deflecting technique, but he also knew his friend was trying. "Grissom... He's distant."

"He, uh... He kinda has a right to be." If possible, Nick's voice got even quieter. His eyes never left the jeans he had been examining. "When he saw her... It wasn't pretty. That image has to be burned in his mind forever. He, uh, needs time to process it all."

Greg studied his friend and coworker. He knew that Nick was speaking more from personal experience than from the outside vantage point. He had seen Sara, they all had. Her case was not some random nameless, faceless case they worked and shelved when it was over. It would live with them, haunt them, forever.

"Do you think it's good for him to be like that when he's at home? I mean, ya know, it can't be good." Greg asked nervously, realizing that Grissom's home life was mostly never a topic of conversation.

"I doubt he's like that at home. He's just Grissom. He won't talk about it. He'll find a way to decompress when he's not here. We all find ways to cope with what hurts us the most." He looked over at Greg earnestly. "Sometimes people help, and sometimes they don't. Sometimes time does, and sometimes too much time can hurt."

Greg realized that Nick was right. The Texan had been forced to take off time after his abduction and go home to heal. He reconnected with family he had not seen in years. He came home healed and seemingly happy. He was still shaken upon his arrival at McCarran, but he was a whole lot better than when he left.

Greg's parents had wanted to visit, but he had told them not to. He had told them that he was fine and going back to work, that they need not worry. He knew he needed people and work to get his mind off of what had happened. He was eager to see his family and to enjoy their company and be comforted, but he did not want the hassle.

There was not a lot to tell about his beating. Sure, he was beat to a pulp, but that was physical. Sure, he ultimately took a life, and that had its own pain and mental anguish. He justified it in his mind. He knew what he did was right, he saved a life. His situation was not worse or better than Nick's or Sara's, but it was inherently different.

He had not been taken and left for dead by some whacko to be mentally tortured for hours on end before it all came to a close. Greg would choose physical pain over psychological any day of the week. Nick had been taken at random, and that had to be hard to imagine, but at least it had not been personal. Sara was taken because of who she was and who she was with. Grissom might not have the physical recuperation to endure, but he was sure to have mental scars.

The cure-all was relative to who it was being applied to.

Greg put his goggles back on and set to getting back to work. "Even if we can't go over and see her, I'm glad she has Grissom. At least she has someone to help her work through it."

"It's good that they have each other," Nick agreed.

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To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer_: Still don't own it.

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One Word

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Standing still in the doorway, Grissom allowed his eyes to become adjusted to the darkness. Bruno raised his large head up from his paws to greet the newest addition to the group. He spied the silhouette sitting stiffly on a lounge chair next to where their dog was lying. It was the dead of summer, not anywhere near cold enough to make breath turn into a haze in front of someone's mouth. He frowned lightly at that.

"You're smoking," he accused, stating the obvious. Weeks of silence had been broken by a statement so weak and absurd that it was almost laughable given any other circumstances.

"You're observant," Sara replied flippantly, her eyes never leaving the scenery in the distance.

Lugging her arm from the armrest, Sara pulled another drag from the cigarette. The object teetering in her fingers, she laid her arm back down before releasing her breath into another billowy cloud that circled around her head. Sighing with slight satisfaction, Sara laid her head back on the headrest.

"What are you going here, Grissom? You're supposed to be at work."

Still Sara's eyes never moved. Anyone else might have believed she was relaxing and enjoying the night air, despite the bitter smell her smoking was creating. Her eyes were distant and unfocused, neither enjoying nor disliking the view. It was a bank of nothingness, much like their life had become.

Quietly, Grissom moved to the lounge chair adjacent to hers. The plastic creaked with the new weight. He sat sideways so he was looking at her profile. It was hardly comfortable, but it provided him with the opportunity to be close to her and see her all at the same time. Sitting so low to the ground, Grissom stretched out his legs between them.

"I took the night off," he replied simply, staring at her, willing her to look at him.

It had been weeks since he had seen her. Living in the same house, but never sharing close space. She kept to herself entirely. He had been living with a ghost. She was no normal ghost, because she haunted him in a real-life form. She was there physically. He could touch her if he was allowed. If she were a real ghost, Grissom knew he would not feel so conflicted.

"So, you've come home looking for what, exactly?" Her voice was bitter, withdrawn. The smoke she was exhaling made her voice even breathier.

She was so close. He fought the urge just to reach out and touch her. Just one finger to her skin to make sure she was real. She looked like Sara, but she no longer acted like Sara. Inside this shell of a woman there had to be the Sara he loved.

"I... I don't know why I came home. I needed a break," he said solemnly.

"I thought work was the break?"

He continued to stare at her profile. "There is no break, Sara." He took a deep breath of air. "Nothing is... the same anymore."

"The same? The _same_?" Her voice became elevated ever so slightly at the absurd summation that Grissom had supplied. "Tell me about it. Did you really expect anything to stay the same?"

He looked away. He looked at anything except Sara, his eyes flitting over the door, the railing, siding, lights in the distance, clouds. He had known that some things would change, that was inevitable. What he had not expected to change was their relationship. That was the one rock he had looked for after the storm, only to find that it had been reduced to sand and was slowly eroding away with each passing day.

Sara let the cigarette filter fall from her fingertips. Grissom watched as the orange object hit the cement floor and rolled into a pile at the side of her chair. He wondered then just how unobservant he had become, and just how long it had been since he had ventured outside on his balcony. Apparently, her smoking was not a new occurrence.

He gazed at the pile of cigarette butts, his curiosity winning out. "How long has this been going on?"

Sara ignored the wording of the question, because she knew exactly what he was actually asking. Grissom's philosophy of 'the more the how and less the why' was left at work, and it never applied to her anyway. "You know, I picked up a pack of Nicorette Gum and a magazine at the airport gift shop while I was waiting to board a plane for Vegas. Never once did I regret that impulse. Just like that, I put them down. Just like my life. But, I started to wonder about what I was missing all these years."

"What else do you miss? Do you miss meat?" His remark came out a little more spiteful than he had intended. It hurt to see her let herself go, but she had not given him much of a say in the matter.

Sara actually found herself chuckling at that, but she stopped abruptly. "That's on the agenda for tomorrow. I was thinking about a big steak and maybe some onion rings."

He glanced up at her. She had to be joking, or at least he hoped she was. She could not possibly be considering eating meat after so many years of being against it. But, then, he watched her light another cigarette. And, only after seeing her drop the lighter on the table to her right, did he see the tumbler sitting on the table as well. He ran the conversation over in his mind. The barely noticeable slur in her words. He realized then that he should have been keeping tabs on the vodka in the cupboard, and not just the juice in the refrigerator. At least dehydration was not on the list of things ailing her.

She continued to stare out into space. Grissom wondered how he had missed the clues. He had seen her pulling away, but he had hoped it was just an adjustment period, that she would as suddenly come back to him as easily and quickly as she had turned away. Seeing and hearing her now, he realized just how bland she had become when speaking of her own life. She was no longer living, but merely existing.

In all honesty with himself, Grissom knew she did not pull away on her own. He allowed her to close herself off. Grissom was confused and had no idea how to comfort her when she lashed out. He searched his repertoire of quotes, but nothing ever came to mind. He felt in his heart that his own words would never be sufficient to help her in the healing process.

He knew he should have tried harder. He told himself that he tried, but when it came down to it, he knew he fell terribly short. He was sick of being told that everything was wrong. He was tired of being reprimanded for stupid things like not washing the dishes the moment dinner was done, not making his side of the bed properly, not turning the porch light on directly at dusk, giving Bruno a treat for no other reason than he was a dog. The list was endless. Everything, no matter how innocuous, seemed to incense her, causing extreme irritability and sometimes mild tantrums turning into loud verbal fights.

He clearly remembered the third day she was home from the hospital.

"_Gil, did you get the milk I asked for?"_

"_Yes. It's in the refrigerator."_

"_It's vanilla. Why in the hell would you get vanilla-flavored Silk? I can't use this for breakfast." Sara slammed the half gallon carton of milk onto the counter and tossed her bowl of cereal in the sink with such vengeance that the bowl shattered into pieces, sending oat flakes and pottery splinters all over the counter and floor. The refrigerator door was slammed forcefully before she stalked off to the bedroom to sulk for two hours._

_Grissom dumped the milk down the drain, cleaned up the mess, and bought a new carton of plain Silk before she emerged from the room. Neither of them spoke to the other for hours, and when they did, it was as if the incident had never happened at all._

That carton of soy milk still sat untouched in the refrigerator, four and a half weeks later.

He considered it fortunate that it had an expiration date of almost two and a half months rather than the couple of weeks that regular milk suggested. Briefly, he considered how long the tofu in the crisper would last, but that was inconsequential at the moment.

Sara tipped her glass up to her lips and took a hearty swallow. Grimacing slightly as the clear liquid burned her throat, she averted her eyes to the glass. Swirling the glass to make the ice clink around the edges, Sara seemed mesmerized by the sight. Concentration had become hard for her.

Four days after arriving home, Sara had become restless.

"_I can't just sit here and do nothing. Let me help," she had asked when Grissom had gotten home, a folder in his hand._

"_The doctor said you should be resting," Grissom responded walking towards the breakfast bar and placing the items down._

"_Damn it. I've been resting every day since I got home. I just sit around the house reading or watching TV. I've got to do something." She paced in front of the couch._

_Grissom looked over at her. The doctor had specifically instructed him to reduce her stress and make her rest. He studied her like a piece of evidence for a few moments before surrendering. Maybe it would make her feel better. He picked the folder back up and walked to the couch. Before taking a seat, he spread the pictures and papers out for her to look over. She sat down beside him and allowed him to explain the details of the case before she started looking them over herself._

_Ten minutes later, she asked a question. He had already gone over everything and the question was easily answered in one of the documents. Not wanting to alarm her, he said nothing and just mentally filed that irregularity away. After gently having her question answered, she had gone back to work. After a few minutes more she tossed the papers back onto the table. Grissom looked at her cautiously._

"_Pointless. This is pointless." She had lost patience with herself. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't—" She stood abruptly and walked towards the window. "This is your thing, your case. It's... Never mind. I'm going to watch TV." She walked to the bedroom and stayed there for hours._

That was the last time she had asked about work.

"You want something to eat? I could make—"

Abruptly, Sara cut him off. "I'm not hungry. Don't stress yourself out."

"It wouldn't be a problem at all. I picked a few things up from the store."

"I said I'm not hungry," she reiterated, forcing her voice to remain even and herself not to get angry.

On the fifth day home, her appetite had waned.

_Grissom walked to the bedroom door. "Dinner's ready."_

_Sara followed him to the dining room table. She sat down heavily and pulled herself closer to the table. She gazed at the food on her plate. Normally one to eat a lot, especially of Grissom's vegetable lasagna, Sara stuck her fork in the pasta creation. She picked at it and chopped it up until it resembled more of a plate of goulash than a wide-noodled and layered creation._

_Suddenly, Sara dropped her fork onto the plate and pushed it towards the middle of the table. She reached for her glass of water and looked across the table at Grissom. She was well aware that Grissom had been more intent upon watching her than bothering to eat his own plate of food._

"_Do you want something else? I'll..." He grabbed their plates as he got up from the table and walked towards the kitchen. Reaching the refrigerator, he stopped. He definitely heard her chair scraping across the floor as she got up._

"_Don't go to any trouble. This was... It was wonderful. I guess I'm just not hungry. I'll get something later."_

_Sara slowly ambled back towards the bedroom. Grissom watched her go and placed her plate on the floor. Bruno sniffed at it for a moment and looked up at Grissom confused before licking heartily at the food. The boxer was unaccustomed to getting table food, and when he did, it was always Sara sneaking him a treat when she thought Grissom was not looking._

He had not seen her touch another bite of food since then.

He watched her take another drag of her cigarette. He wondered how many she had gone through that evening. Grissom had the distinct feeling of sitting in a bar with the smoky air clouding around, never enough ventilation. Even though they were outside on the balcony, there seemed to be insufficient air to cleanse the smell.

Teetering the glass and cigarette in the same hand proved to be a little difficult. So, Sara took one more swallow of the liquid in the tumbler and placed it back on the table. Silence filled the space between them, uncomfortable as it was.

The nightly sounds of cars honking, people chattering below, and TVs from neighboring townhouses filled the air, filled the quiet surrounding them. Their own breathing not loud enough to be heard by either of them for fear that they might remember the other was there.

A car backfired on the street and Sara jumped. She shrieked audibly and accidentally dropped the cigarette from her hand. It landed unceremoniously on her lap, and she feverishly swiped at her pants to remove it before it burned her. It hit the cement floor and rolled in Grissom's direction.

He picked it up. Briefly, he considered stubbing it out or throwing it over the edge to allow it to plummet to the ground below. After that, he considered taking a drag himself to see what she found so enthralling about the act. Deciding against all three options, he extended his arm towards Sara.

She reached out, her hand shaking quite visibly. Their fingers brushed fleetingly, causing a spark both of them had long since forgotten existed. Grissom wanted to take her hand in his, pull her to him, and hold her forever.

Taking the proffered item from his hand, Sara gave a nod of recognition. She sensed that he had weighed his options and still handed it back to her. It had been hard for Grissom to make the conscious decision to return the Marlboro to her, to be torn between giving her what she wanted and what she needed.

Jumpy was a feeble term to use for Sara as they reached day six.

_Sara stood at the bookshelf perusing the books she would make an attempt at reading that evening while Grissom was at the lab. She ran one finger across the spines not really reading the names, but more waiting for a familiar feel of the book jacket. Grissom watched from the hallway as she continued her search._

_Feeling a sense of right wash over him, he walked towards her. The moment was perfect. It was a feeling of utter sameness and domesticity as there had been before the abduction. So many times Grissom had walked up behind her, surprised her with his closeness, placing his arms around her waist. So many times before Sara had leaned back into the touch and relished in the little moments that were theirs._

_She grasped one particular book from the shelf as Grissom neared her. His arms reached out on their own accord. Instead of wrapping his arms around her, they just lightly touched her hips, intent upon settling there. Expecting the moment when she would begin to lean back into him, he was startled and troubled to feel her jump and her body turn rigid._

_More distressing than that was her shriek of alarm and her dropping the book to the floor. Sara spun around quickly, her eyes wide with fright. Her breathing uneven and ragged concerned him, but not as much as when she backed the few inches remaining between her back and the bookcase. Sara's heart was beating so fast and hard she thought it would burst from her chest. Grissom dropped his hands to his sides._

"_Damn, Grissom. What the Hell are you doing?" she yelled, her entire body trembling._

"_I..." He had no idea what he was doing, or what she was doing, for that matter. He just watched her eyes darting back and forth, looking for an escape route. "What's wrong?"_

_He looked at him indignantly. "You snuck up on me, that's what. What's wrong with you?"_

_She sidled out between him and the bookshelf, making her way determinedly towards the bedroom. Grissom found himself staring at the bookshelf, minus one book which was lying on the floor. He bent to pick it up and slid it back into its place on the shelf. Sara would not be bothering with the book that evening. Chances were he was in for another three or four hours alone before she reemerged to face the world._

Since then, he had not reached out to her in a spontaneous moment to remind her that he loved her.

Sara finished that cigarette and dropped it onto the pile with the others. Still staring into the great nothingness of the air over the city, Sara breathed deeply. "What are we doing here, Grissom? It's the middle of the night. Aren't you tired?"

He ignored everything she said. Sara was reaching, pushing. She wanted him out of her space, but Grissom had had enough. For three weeks he had let her have her way. If for just one night, no matter how much torture he was going to endure, he was going to sit there with her until she decided enough was enough.

"I—_We_ work this time of night. Are you sleeping okay?" Noting the bags under her eyes, he knew the answer, but he wondered if she would let him in.

"My sleeping habits are not up for discussion," she replied with a finality that spoke volumes more than an answer itself ever could have.

His beautiful Sara had rings around her eyes. Her face was drawn and pale. Her eyes, almost constantly half-closed, were red-rimmed and distant. Tired, she was tired.

Day eight marked the realization of Sara hardly ever sleeping.

_Grissom's arms, wrapped around his girlfriend, were warm and comfortable. A slight tug and push woke him. Slowly, so as not to wake him, Sara was sliding herself from his grasp. He stayed still and tried to relax his muscles, wanting to see where this would go. _

_He allowed her to pull away, hoping she just had to use the bathroom or get a drink of water. He listened intently and heard the toilet flush. He waited an appropriate amount of time, expecting her to come back to bed. The cabinet door followed by the setting of a glass on the counter. He strained to hear everything. The refrigerator door closed._

_All day, he listened intently, waiting and wishing for the one moment he would need to pretend to be asleep when she crept back into their bed and snuggled up next to him. He waited for what seemed like forever, and felt like it was all in vain._

_At six o'clock, half of his wish was granted. Sara tiptoed into the room, gently placed herself on the bed, and watched the numbers turn over until the alarm clock started to chime. She stretched and yawned and pretended to just be waking up. Never once did she make a move towards him. Never had his arms felt colder than they did that afternoon._

_Each bedtime the same thing happened. She had curled up on the edge of her side of the bed waiting until she believed Grissom was asleep. Soon thereafter, she got up, roamed the floor, and returned just before the alarm was set to go off._

After that, sleeplessness claimed more and more of her supposed sleep time.

He watched as Sara closed her eyes. She was by no means peaceful, but she was still. The night air swept over them. A calm breeze blew, quite contradictory to what they both were feeling. Sara's face relaxed, and her breathing evened out.

Grissom watched as she fell into a light sleep. His eyes roamed her body, the body he had not seen or touched in weeks. To anyone else watching them, it might have appeared normal, a couple enjoying the serene night. To anyone who did not know them, anyone on the outside looking in, anyway. Or maybe even people who did know them, because no one really had seen their home life.

Seconds or minutes passed, Grissom had not kept time. He just kept a silent vigil beside her, trying to savor the time with her at peace with the world. It might be the last time in another chunk of as many weeks that he would not be near her again. These images might come back to haunt him later, but he was willing to risk it just to pretend. He just wanted to pretend for a few minutes that everything really was okay.

Startling him, Sara jumped. She screamed out as she sat bolt upright in the chair. Her entire body shook and trembled. Grissom reached out an arm towards her. He wanted to offer comfort, but it took him back to the last time it had happened. Sara narrowed her eyes and jerked her body away. No, the nightmares had not stopped.

They not only infiltrated her sleep, but also her wakefulness. Many times, Sara found herself jumping at her own reflection in the mirror. When she least expected it, like when brushing her teeth, she would glance up in the mirror and see the battered, bruised Sara who escaped death by the skin of her teeth. She would sometimes feel a presence and think she saw Natalie behind her. She would twirl around ready to fight, but she was always left with an empty room.

It left her feeling isolated and never alone at the exact same time. She felt herself being pulled between Natalie's ghost and Grissom's presence. As much as Sara hated it, Natalie was winning the battle. It hurt to see Grissom suffer because Natalie's creepy spirit was hanging around the townhouse.

Grissom had not touched her, but her movements were as if he burned her. Grissom dropped his hand back to his lap as she wrapped her arms protectively around her midsection. Sara dropped herself against the back of the chair and tried desperately to fight the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness surrounding her. Nothing was getting better. In fact, it was getting worse, much worse.

Time did not heal all wounds, it seemed. Time had healed the physical ones. Yes, Sara was well on the mend, or so her medical doctor had said when she saw him on her seventh day home. She had one more appointment with him later in the week to get her cast off if all was well.

She had stopped seeing the shrink weeks ago. He could not possibly understand her issues, no one could. That was about the last time she stopped leaving the house. Oh, sure, she left the house for brief stints of no more than fifteen minutes at a time to run to the store for more cigarettes or vodka. The outside world made her angry and bitter, and she hated everyone and everything that was happy and normal.

Every day she had told herself that she was going home, home to her apartment. She never had the energy, however, to pack a bag or the preparedness to get in her car. No, she was not afraid of her car, but she hated reliving the moment Natalie called her name. She had walked out to the car a few times, but each time she touched the door handle, she relived the moment she opened her trunk and her world changed.

He reached out for her again, but she flinched before he was even near her. Immediately, Grissom was drawn back to the last time he had seen her previous to when he walked out onto the balcony. It hurt to think about that afternoon. It hurt like someone was sticking a knife through his heart and into his soul, slicing everything good on the way.

Ten days after being released from the hospital the house became more of a prison than a home.

_Sara was already in bed when he got there. She spent a lot of time in bed, but he never caught her sleeping. And, she had stopped spending time in bed with him. She no longer found pleasure or comfort in his arms at night. Grissom climbed into bed, the mattress twisting and pulling under his weight, but Sara never stirred._

_He picked up a magazine to spend the time until his eyes were heavy with sleep. Sara, unable to wait him out, had fallen asleep before him. She had begun to shift around restlessly on the bed. He placed his hand on her hip or back to soothe her, and it worked. At the feeling of his touch, she immediately stopped moving and her breathing evened out. She never woke._

_This went on for almost two hours before Grissom moved closer to Sara. He had long since put the magazine on the bedside table and was just sitting there watching her. The mattress moved under his weight as he shifted himself closer to the middle of the bed. He wanted her to sleep, he thought it might help._

_About to put his arm over her hip and curl up next to her, Grissom found himself on the receiving end of an elbow in the chest. This was followed by Sara letting out a blood-curdling scream. His breath was expelled quickly as the action and shock caught up with him. She woke with a start and scrambled to get out of the covers and off of the bed._

_Sara stared at him from a half-bent over position, trying to catch her breath. She placed one hand on her heart and extended the other in front of her as a warning to him. She needed time to think. She needed time to process what had just happened. She needed to be alone. Her eyes tightly closed, Sara counted to ten to calm herself._

_Grissom ignored the outstretched arm and moved closer. Sara never saw him coming. He placed his hand on her upper arm, just above the cast, not tightly, but what he thought was reassuringly. She snatched her arm back quickly from his grasp and straightened herself, opening her eyes wide. Backing away from the bed, Sara stared at him disbelievingly._

"_Don't," she breathed._

"_Sara?"_

"_I said don't. Just..."_

"_What? Tell me what to do, Sara. I'll do anything." Confusion was etched on his face._

"_Don't touch me. I need..." She had trouble catching her breath. "I need... I... Don't come near me." Her face showed the anguish they both were feeling._

_He moved to her side of the bed but kept his arms at his sides. His legs hung over her side of the bed as he placed his feet on the floor for support. Sara backed away until there was no further to go. Her butt came in contact with her dresser, and she felt caught, trapped._

"_Sara..." He worked his mouth, but no other words came out._

_She huffed a breath at the tone he was using. He had used it so many times before, all times when she had done something he did not approve of. "Please... Please," she was practically begging. "I... You..." Her thoughts evaded her as he tried to verbalize her feelings._

"_What can I do?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_What's going on, Sara?" He made a move to stand._

"_I don't know. I'm—" She forgot she was backed against the dresser. Momentarily panicking, she shuffled herself to side to put more distance between them. "Don't touch me, please."_

_She was nothing if not polite, even when she was angry, hurt, and confused. Had it been any other time, Grissom knew he would have smiled. He watched her eyes getting bigger, flicking around the room, unable to focus on anything specific. Not wanting to cause her any further distress, he sat back down heavily on the bed._

_She breathed a small sigh of relief and relaxed her posture. "I need some time alone."_

Personal time in the spare room began that moment and lasted for three weeks straight.

Three weeks, twenty and a half days, 495 hours, or 29,742 minutes. No matter how it was broken down or how precise the time, the pain was the same.

The silence overwhelming her, Sara spoke to fill the void. "I don't sleep. I don't eat. I... The world is closing in on me."

"I know."

For the first time since he had ventured outside and interrupted her personal time, Sara turned to look at him. Very slowly, torturously, her head moved to the side. "You know? And, yet..."

"What do you want from me, Sara?" He was distraught, his voice raised and ragged.

"I'm falling apart, and you want me to help you help me? Unbelievable." She shook her head as she turned back away from him.

"I can't help you if you won't let me. I want to help you, I do." He drew in a ragged breath. "It kills me to watch as..."

"As I slowly die inside?" She finished for him as his voice trailed off.

"Yes," he breathed, putting every ounce of his soul into it. He looked at her, willing her to look back. She did. Locking eyes with her, he said deeply, "I can't lose you, Sara. I _won't_ lose you."

The desperation in his voice, the fear in his eyes, the shaking of his hands, they all spoke to her. A lone tear rolled down her cheek and caught on her chin. For the first time since she was home, Sara felt alive. She ran two fingers across her cheek to catch some of the moisture, not to mask it, but more to mark it. She wanted to make sure it was real.

An emotion other than anger or resentment was running rampant through her body. Sara held her hand in front of her and looked at her fingers. Grissom watched in awe as she focused so intently on her fingertips. His heart was breaking, and he wanted to hold her. He wanted to reach out and wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

Another tear followed the same path. It ran down her cheek and mingled with the other droplet. Together, they fell to Sara's shirt and left a little circle of wetness there. The tears were a mixed blessing. As much as he wanted to wipe all of her tears away, give her a reason not to cry, she needed to let it out, needed to let go.

"Gil?" Sara's weak voice called out.

His name. One little word. Three small letters held a wealth of significance. After weeks of not hearing her voice, after weeks of wondering if she would ever call him anything except Grissom again like she had each time she had lashed out at him, he felt the world begin to spin again.

"Yes."

Another tear rolled down her other cheek. His hands gripped his legs right above the knees to keep from reaching out to her. The need to touch her, soothe her, was overwhelming. He had to wait for the moment. He had to wait for her to want it. He had to wait for permission.

"I'm so sorry," she choked out, her voice laden with grief.

He gripped his legs harder. "Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing."

"I shouldn't—" A small sob stopped her. "I—"

Grissom stopped her. "Shh. Shh, honey. It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

She turned her tear-stained face towards him. Sniffling, Sara composed herself enough to choke out her words. "Will you hold me?"

Grissom stared at her in shock. He blinked. She gave the consent he had been looking for, and it was so bittersweet. It was everything he wanted but so unexpected. Three weeks of waiting and wanting was finally over.

He stood and surveyed his options quickly. One lounge chair would not be comfortable for both of them. Going inside might detract from the moment. He walked around to the other side of his chair and pushed it up against hers. Sitting gingerly, he placed himself as close to the edge closest to her as he could. Sara scooted closer to the edge of her chair as well.

Grissom snaked his arm out and around her back. Sara leaned into his touch and placed her head on his chest. Desperate to hold her, but afraid to startle her or scare her off, Grissom laid his arm on her shoulder lightly. The cast on her left arm between them made the position slightly uncomfortable, but neither one cared.

"I'm not going to break. Can you hold me tighter?" Sara said weakly into his shirt as she ran her right hand along his chest and around his side to hug him.

He pulled his arm tightly around her and put his other hand on her arm wrapped around him. Kissing the top of her head, Grissom reached his hand up and ran it through her hair. His arm slid down her side and back up again to settle on her shoulder. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like something he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Sara removed her arm from Grissom's stomach long enough to reach behind herself and knocked the pack of Marlboros and the tumbler of vodka to the cement patio. She felt Grissom's sharp intake of breath. "The cigarettes are gone, and I don't need the vodka to warm me anymore."

Grissom sighed and pulled her tighter. "Talk to me, Sara. Tell me anything that's on your mind."

And, she did.

She spoke about Natalie and how she got the jump on her. She spoke about how it was more painful to hear her bone snapping under the weight of the car than the actual action itself. She spoke about the water and how she got her arm free.

She told him of her fears, her isolation, her anxiety. She told him of her anger and resentment at the world. She told him how she hated that everything good in her life always became marred by pain and suffering.

The moon set, the sun rose. The darkness abandoned them, the sun greeted them. The crickets stopped chirping, the birds started singing. The slow growl of the nightlife dissipated, the rush of cars and busy mornings assembled.

She talked until her tears dried. She talked until her voice was hoarse. She talked until she had no more words to say. Then, she slept. She slept, really slept, for the first time in weeks, her demons held at bay by the love of the man holding her.

* * *

The End.


End file.
